“Why don’t you want to be a sheep?” asked a wise person.
Ramona had an inspiration. “Because I don’t have any makeup.”
“Makeup on a sheep!” exclaimed a wise person and giggled.
Ramona persisted. “Sheep have black noses,” she hinted. “Maybe I could have a black nose.”
The girls looked at one another. “Don’t tell my mother,” said one, “but I have some mascara. We could make her nose black.”
“Please!” begged Ramona, getting to her feet and coming out from behind the Christmas tree.
The owner of the mascara fumbled in her shoulder bag, which was hanging on a chair, and brought out a tiny box. “Let’s go in the kitchen where there’s a sink,” she said, and when Ramona followed her, she moistened an elf-sized brush, which she rubbed on the mascara in the box. Then she began to brush it onto Ramona’s nose. It tickled, but Ramona held still. “It feels like brushing my teeth only on my nose,” she remarked. The wise person stood back to look at her work and then applied another coat of mascara to Ramona’s nose. “There,” she said at last. “Now you look like a real sheep.”
Ramona felt like a real sheep. “Ba-a-a,” she bleated, a sheep’s way of saying thank you. Ramona felt so much better, she could almost pretend she was woolly. She peeled off her coat and found that the faded pink rabbits really didn’t show much in the dim light. She pranced off among the angels, who had been handed little flashlights, which they were supposed to hold like candles. Instead they were shining them into their mouths to show one another how weird they looked with light showing through their cheeks. The other two sheep stopped jumping when they saw her.
“You don’t look like Ramona,” said Howie.
“B-a-a. I’m not Ramona. I’m a sheep.” The boys did not say one word about Ramona’s pajamas. They wanted black noses too, and when Ramona told them where she got hers, they ran off to find the wise persons. When they returned, they no longer looked like Howie and Davy in sheep suits. They looked like strangers in sheep suits. So I must really look like somebody else, thought Ramona with increasing happiness. Now she could be in the program, and her parents wouldn’t know because they wouldn’t recognize her.
“B-a-a!” bleated three prancing, black-nosed sheep. “B-a-a, b-a-a.”
Mrs. Russo clapped her hands. “Quiet, everybody!” she ordered. “All right, Mary and Joseph, up by the front stairs. Shepherds and sheep next and then wise persons. Angels line up by the back stairs.”
The three sheep pranced over to the shepherds, one of whom said, “Look what we get to herd,” and nudged Ramona with his crook.
“You cut that out,” said Ramona.
“Quietly, everyone,” said Mrs. Russo.
Ramona’s heart began to pound as if something exciting were about to happen. Up the stairs she tiptoed and through the arched door. The only light came from candelabra on either side of the chancel and from a streetlight shining through a stained-glass window. Ramona had never seen the church look so beautiful or so mysterious.
Beezus sat down on a low stool in the center of the chancel and arranged the baby’s blanket around the flashlight. Henry stood behind her. The sheep got down on their hands and knees in front of the shepherds, and the Three Wise Persons stood off to one side, holding bath-salts jars that looked as if they really could hold frankincense and myrrh. An electric star suspended above the organ began to shine. Beezus turned on the big flashlight inside the baby’s blanket and light shone up on her face, making her look like a picture of Mary on a Christmas card. From the rear door a wobbly procession of kindergarten angels, holding their small flashlights like candles, led the way, glimmering, two by two. “Ah…” breathed the congregation.
“Hark, the herald angels sing,” the advancing angels caroled. They looked nothing like the jumping, flapping mob with flashlights shining through their cheeks that Ramona had watched downstairs. They looked good and serious and…holy.
A shivery feeling ran down Ramona’s backbone, as if magic were taking place. She looked up at Beezus, smiling tenderly down at the flashlight, and it seemed as if Baby Jesus really could be inside the blanket. Why, thought Ramona with a feeling of shock, Beezus looks nice. Kind and—sort of pretty. Ramona had never thought of her sister as anything but—well, a plain old big sister, who got to do everything first. Ramona was suddenly proud of Beezus. Maybe they did fight a lot when Beezus wasn’t going around acting like Mary, but Beezus was never really mean.
As the carolers bore more light into the church, Ramona found her parents in the second row. They were smiling gently, proud of Beezus, too. This gave Ramona an aching feeling inside. They would not know her in her makeup. Maybe they would think she was some other sheep, and she didn’t want to be some other sheep. She wanted to be their sheep. She wanted them to be proud of her, too.
Ramona saw her father look away from Beezus and look directly at her. Did he recognize her? Yes, he did. Mr. Quimby winked. Ramona was shocked. Winking in church! How could her father do such a thing? He winked again and this time held up his thumb and forefinger in a circle. Ramona understood. Her father was telling her he was proud of her, too.
“Joy to the newborn King!” sang the angels, as they mounted the steps on either side of the chancel.
Ramona was filled with joy. Christmas was the most beautiful, magic time of the whole year. Her parents loved her, and she loved them, and Beezus, too. At home there was a Christmas tree and under it, presents, fewer than at past Christmases, but presents all the same. Ramona could not contain her feelings. “B-a-a,” she bleated joyfully.
She felt the nudge of a shepherd’s crook on the seat of her pajamas and heard her shepherd whisper through clenched teeth, “You be quiet!” Ramona did not bleat again. She wiggled her seat to make her tail wag.
About the Author
BEVERLY CLEARY is one of America’s most popular authors. Born in McMinnville, Oregon, she lived on a farm in Yamhill until she was six and then moved to Portland. After college, as the children’s librarian in Yakima, Washington, she was challenged to find stories for non-readers. She wrote her first book, HENRY HUGGINS, in response to a boy’s question, “Where are the books about kids like us?”
Mrs. Cleary’s books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented in recognition of her lasting contribution to children’s literature. Her DEAR MR. HENSHAW was awarded the 1984 John Newbery Medal, and both RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8 and RAMONA AND HER FATHER have been named Newbery Honor Books. In addition, her books have won more than thirty-five statewide awards based on the votes of her young readers. Her characters, including Henry Huggins, Ellen Tebbits, Otis Spofford, and Beezus and Ramona Quimby, as well as Ribsy, Socks, and Ralph S. Mouse, have delighted children for generations. Mrs. Cleary lives in coastal California.
Visit Ramona Quimby and all of her friends in The World of Beverly Cleary at www.beverlycleary.com.
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Enjoy all of Beverly Cleary’s books
FEATURING RAMONA QUIMBY:
Beezus and Ramona
Ramona the Pest
Ramona the Brave
Ramona and Her Father
Ramona and Her Mother
Ramona Quimby, Age 8
Ramona Forever
Ramona’s World
FEATURING HENRY HUGGINS:
Henry Huggins
Henry and Beezus
Henry and Ribsy
Henry and the Paper Route
Henry and the Clubhouse
Ribsy
FEATURING RALPH MOUSE:
The Mouse and the Motorcycle
Runaway Ralph
Ralph S. Mouse
MORE GREAT FICTION BY BEVERLY CLEARY:
Ellen Tebbits
Otis Spofford
Fifteen
The Luckiest Girl
Jean and Jo
hnny
Emily’s Runaway Imagination
Sister of the Bride
Mitch and Amy
Socks
Dear Mr. Henshaw
Muggie Maggie
Strider
Two Times the Fun
AND DON’T MISS BEVERLY CLEARY’S AUTOBIOGRAPHIES:
A Girl from Yamhill
My Own Two Feet
Credits
Jacket art © 2006 by Tracy Dockray
Jacket design by Amy Ryan
Copyright
RAMONA AND HER FATHER. Copyright © 1975, 1977 by Beverly Cleary. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780061972317
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